


hanna city in the summertime

by gracedbybattle



Series: tell me where the good men go [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Aftermath - Chuck Wendig
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Old Married Couple, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22810909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracedbybattle/pseuds/gracedbybattle
Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Crait, the Resistance is desperate for allies. Finn and Poe set out to recruit an old friend who knows a thing or two about defecting.Sinjir thought he was done with the war for good. Conder just wants to get his husband out of the house. Set between TLJ and TROS.
Relationships: Conder Kyl/Sinjir Rath Velus, Poe Dameron/Finn
Series: tell me where the good men go [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639906
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

Hanna City is just as beautiful as Poe remembers. 

The city is set among the rolling hills of Chandrila, a modern hub framed by the sea. The water at the city’s edge is calm, sparkling clear in the setting afternoon sun. The streets are busy but not congested today, the gentle bustle of activity a low hum in the back of Poe’s mind. The wind from the seashore is carrying through the paved street, ruffling his hair as he walks. 

There are a few vendors here and there among the walkways, selling goods. The street market has Poe’s eye wandering a touch, scanning the stalls on the chance that they’re selling koyo melons. He hasn’t had one since before the evacuation of D’Qar and makes him a touch homesick. They’re not native to Chandrila, and they certainly wouldn’t taste good as it tastes handpicked on Yavin, but he’d take it all the same.

He had found someone selling them on the main street, the last time he was here with Muran, Karé and Iolo. They had taken a few days in the city to themselves before their ill fated patrol in the Mirrin sector. He shakes himself mentally, trying not to dwell on old memories. It is a touch ironic and bittersweet to be here now. So much has changed, yet the city feels the same. 

“Are we headed the right way?”

Poe pulls himself from his thoughts to Finn staring at the directions on the pad, squinting in the sun. 

“Yeah, buddy,’ he says, sliding into Finn’s space, putting a hand on his shoulder and peering a little closer at their datapad. He’s fairly certain he knows the way, but it’s been a while since he’d been on Chandrila and he’d rather not make any dumb mistakes. The famous Opera House is directly ahead of them, and the structure in question is only a few blocks beyond that. 

Finn follows his line of sight, leaning into Poe’s hand planted on his shoulder. He blinks in the sun, one hand coming up to shield his eyes. “That one there? With the shades?”

“Looks like it,” Poe claps his friend on the shoulder and takes a moment to look him over. Finn handles the heat better than most and Chandrila is no Yavin IV, but he still thinks he should have gotten him a hat, at least. The sun has been relentless today, even if Poe finds it pleasant. 

Finn notices him watching and smirks, taking Poe by the hand and tugging him along down their pathway. “C’mon you,” he says. Let’s track down this old renegade and see what he has to say.”

\--

The transition to establishing their new base on Ajan Kloss has been as smooth a process as Leia could have hoped for. 

The Resistance has only recently found their footing again. The losses at the Battle of Crait still sticks like a sore in the back of her mind, barely healed and easy to pick at. There are a million things on Leia’s mind, supplies, ships, medical, tactics, lodging, reconnaissance. The First Order have not slowed their advancements, and the Resistance needs to be ready to mount an offensive of their own. 

But the one thing weighing heavily on Leia’s is recruitment. 

Supplies can be replaced, bartered, credits can be procured. But the one thing they have lost that seems irreplaceable is people. Not just the pilots and the soldiers. But leadership, strategists. The minds behind the war. The ones with experience, the ones with a history. The ones who have done this before. 

Leia is the only one left, and she feels the weight keenly. 

There are a few left in the galaxy that may heed her call. Old friends retired from the fight. She hates to bring them back when they have walked away, but she cannot give up so easily. These are the hard choices to make and she was born to make them. She has already dispatched Snap Wexley and Karé Kun to Akiva. A part of her believes she should have gone herself. But she can barely imagine delivering the news to Wedge about Luke. If anything could break the man, it would be this. 

Thinking of Wedge and Norra has another idea ticking in her brain, two old allies that she hasn’t seen in years. They quietly retired from the spotlight, and by extension her cause, years ago. She knows that they’re still in on Chandrila, in Hanna City. A place that holds so many memories for her, both good and painful. She feels the years in her bones as her mind drifts to the city. 

“General?”

She looks up from her thoughts to Poe Dameron, standing at the open flap of her tent. They haven’t been able to put up permanent shelter yet, but the weather has made tent dwelling quite pleasant. She just hopes they can construct something sturdier because the rains set in soon. 

Poe stands loosely at attention, hair buffering in the warm breeze. “You wanted to see me?”

She allows herself a small, friendly smile, “Yes Poe, come in. I have a new mission for you.”

“A mission,” Poe repeats, seemingly surprised as he steps into the tent to her side. One hand rests against his side, the other comes up to fiddle gently with the chain around his neck. The silver catches the sun and Shara Bey’s wedding ring glints with the light. 

She takes a moment to study him. The blow of Crait was a difficult lesson, a hard one for him to swallow and a bitter defeat for them all. But, despite what he may believe, she has never lost faith in him and he is slowing restoring his own sense of confidence.

Clearly, she thinks to herself, Finn is a large aide in this. He and Poe have struck up a remarkable bond. It hasn’t escaped her attention that they are practically inseparable, taking meals together, pairing on simple missions, playing sabrac after hours. She is secretly relieved that Poe has a close confidant that doesn’t just see him as a superior, but as a friend. Or more, but she thinks they aren’t quite ready for that. She and Han weren’t, until near the end of the war. 

“To Chandrila,” she says, pulling the pad out and handing it to her commander. “Hanna City.”

Poe takes the pad from her, scanning the details, but there’s flicker in his eyes at the name of the city itself. “I know Hanna,” he says, almost absent mindedly. His brown eyes meet her own. “I was there, years ago. I imagine it hasn’t changed much.”

“I imagine it hasn’t,” she replies. “Part of the reason it’s remained a popular destination, after all these years. There’s a man there I want you to find. Someone I knew from the old war. In truth, I would send Wexley-“

“But he and Karé are already headed to Akiva,” Poe breaks in, then winces as though he remembers he’s not supposed to interrupt a superior. Always thinking ahead, this one. “Apologies General.” He scrolls through the pad, flipping through the details and eyes widening as he reads the profile on their target. 

“None needed. Poe,” she starts, but takes a moment to just look at him. She’s always had a fondness for Poe, even more so because he so unmistakably favors his late mother. He has Shara Bey’s eyes, her devotion, her skill, her kindness. But, to be fair, there are bits of Kes there too, the confidence, the stalwart determination, that strong jawline. 

The stress is weighing on all of them, but none more so it seems than him. He took the full burden for their latest defeat, their losses. There are shadows under his eyes, his tousled hair a little wilder than usual. He must’ve lost at least a few pounds lately, his clothes seem a little baggier too. God, she sounds like his mother. Which is ridiculous, she had a son and he had a mother. He doesn’t need her to look out for him. 

_Finn does_ , her mind whispers at her. _Look out for him._ And he truly has. She’s personally witnessed the younger man hounding Poe about many things, including when to sleep and when to eat. Poe seems more settled in his presence, more at ease. They are comfortable with each other, safe. It makes her next demand quite easy. 

“Take Finn with you to Hanna City,” and she doesn’t miss the way that Poe’s eyes light just a bit at the mention of his best friend. _Interesting,_ she thinks, but decides not to comment. It would be just like Poe to fall in love during a war, following in his parents footsteps in more ways than one. 

But she’ll let the two of them settle it out in their own time. Best not to meddle. 

“Yes, it’ll be good for you and him to get off this rock for a bit. The two of you make quite a good team,” she says, just to see his reaction. It’s hardly a presumptive statement in oblivious company, but overt enough that it’ll get a reaction out of Poe, if there’s something there. 

Poe flushes, just under the neck, and if she weren’t looking for it, she’d have missed it entirely. He looks up and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he nods in affirmation. He knows. _So much for not meddling._

“Besides,” she shivers and tugs her cloak more firmly around herself as the breeze rolls through again. _Perhaps the rains will be here soon._ “He and Rath Velus actually have a bit in common.”

\--

“This is it,” Poe confirms, starting up at the door. 

“You sure?” Finn asks beside him. Out of the sun, he’s pulled his leather jacket back on from being tied around his waist. It’s a modified pilot jacket, similar to Poe’s old one, and Poe quietly gets a thrill out of seeing him in it. 

While the weeks after Crait haven’t been as good to Poe, they’ve been excellent for Finn. Free of the fear of the First Order and secure in his new position within the Resistance, Finn is growing into himself. He’s developing a wit as sharper than Poe’s own, a sense of humor as dry as Tatooine, and walks with a new confidence that Poe would admit to envying. 

Among other things, he’s chosen to grow his close-cropped regulation hair out, _it looks good either way_ , and has adopted the Rebel style that most the rest of their base favors, _it looks good on him, but Poe hasn't found anything that doesn't._

Poe may have a problem.

_Focus, Dameron._

Right. Back to the mission. 

He doesn’t know Rath Velus personally, but he’s got a pretty well formed picture in his head from Snap’s stories and Leia’s mission brief. A member of Norra Wexley’s old crew, an ex-Imperial who is extremely capable and deadly efficient with a cutting tongue and an affinity for anything behind the catina counter. 

He’s also a married man with a lifelong partner of nearly 30 cycles. He’s carved out a life here in Hanna City, all data indicates he’s been here for almost 10 standard cycles now, and despite Leia’s previous attempts to tempt him back, has no intention of leaving to aid the Resistance. 

It’s a long shot, but they don’t have many options. 

He shrugs. “Only one way to find out,” he replies and knocks twice, _tap tap,_ on the door. Finn sucks in a breath and they wait a few moments before a voice sounds from the other side.

“Just a second, just a second,” and the sound of footsteps growing closer on the other side before the door hisses open. Poe blinks. 

The man before them is decidedly _not_ Sinjir Rath Velus, former Imperial loyalty officer, defector at Endor, Rebel fighter and ex-aide to Chancellor Mon Mothma. This man is approximately the same age, tall and well built with sandy white hair, tan skin and a well kept beard. He leans against the door frame for support as he takes them in. His eyes are surprised, but not unkind, to find strangers at his door. The lines around his eye crinkle with a touch of age. 

“Aha, and who might you be?” 

Poe steps forward and clears his throat. He feels like himself, confident and strong, with Finn at his back. “I’m Commander Poe Dameron, and this is Finn, General Leia Organa sent us on behalf of the Resistance. We’re looking for Sinjir Rath Velus.”

The man sighs as though he expected nothing less. “Of course you are,” he says. He sweeps a hand inside and waves them into the apartment. “You better come in.”

\--

The interior of the apartment has a sleek, modern design, with a personal touch that makes it cozy. The furniture is extremely simple and matches, all dark grey tones and sleek, straight lines. But the pillows are a splash of color, red, blue, yellow. A colorful tattered throw hangs off the back of a couch, an array of books on the table. The whole apartment is a source of natural light, small and large windows dot the walls that overlook the city. 

A large bay window on the opposite side of the room opens to the sight of the far sea and rolling hills beyond. A surplus of plants are blooming merrily in the window, drenched in sunlight. They are a multitude of colors, purple, yellow, pink, blue. 

The man, unmistakably Rath Velus’ longtime partner Conder Kyl, motions widely to the common room. “Feel free to make yourself at home. Sinjir left to run an errand, but he should be back soon. You can wait for him here, if you’d like.”

Finn meets Poe’s eyes and nods once, silent. He moves to the large window, studying the foliage overrunning the window. Kyl lowers himself into one of the two seats across from the couch. Poe turns to him. “Thank you, sir. We appreciate the hospitality.”

Conder waves a hand through the air, dismissive. “Gods, please no. Just call me Conder. I feel old enough.” He smiles at Poe then. “Sinjir will absolutely have a fit if you ‘sir’ him.”

He leans against the chair he’s sitting in. A small table sits next to it with a holo humming away on its surface. It’s of two men, one is obviously a younger Conder, and the other matches ID for Rath Velus. They’re both smiling at one another, Conder mid laughter with a full mouth of white teeth and Sinjir is merely smirking back at him. Their eyes seem soft and their arms are around each other. They look happy. 

“That was after they finalized the peace treaty,” Conder says, as Poe watches the hologram shimmer. His smile is fond and his eyes distant. “That was a good day,” he says, catching Poe’s eye. “We’ve had a lot of those.”

“Have you and Rath Velus been together since the end of the last war?” Finn asks, making his way around the side of the couch. Poe slips down on the seat beside him, sinking against his friend as the cushions deflate. He can’t remember the last time he sat on something so comfortable and luxurious. Or maybe he’s just been in the military too long. 

Conder pulls away from the hologram to eye them both. “Yes, we have,” he says. “It seems like a lifetime now, ago. We’re really not that old, but it does tend to feel that way sometimes.” He pauses at that and points a finger at the two of them. “Don’t repeat that to my husband. He coddles me enough as it is.”

Poe bites back a laugh, imagining Rath Velus as the type of man that mother hens someone. Domestic partner isn’t exactly the picture Snap painted of the ex-loyalty officer, but it’s a welcome surprise. The mutual space within this apartment breathes with the air of two people who are not only comfortable with each other, but have been for some time. 

Finn smiles, first at Conder and then at Poe, the lines around his face relaxing. This is looking less and less like the fight that Leia anticipated. Poe is feeling hopeful. Worst case, he had expected open hostility, but Conder seems nothing but friendly and kind. Optimism springs eternal in Hanna City, it seems. 

Finn and Conder strike up a pleasant conversation, chatting idly while Poe excuses himself to the ‘fresher. Conder waves him in the general direction but doesn’t get out of his chair, seemingly enraptured with Finn and his story. Poe can’t blame him. He gets it. 

He steps inside the ‘fresher and makes a few mental notes. Another plant, one he can’t name, has predominantly escaped its container by shere size and is climbing down the wall. _Someone really likes greenery._ A collection of personal hygiene products sit against the sink, but it’s the large turboshower that catches his attention. A med chair sits in the shower. He frowns at the sight of it. It’s not new, that much is obvious. He doesn’t recall anything in the report about any long-term injuries from the war that would have left Rath Velus handicapped, but maybe it was omitted. _Huh. That seems significant._

He makes quick use of the ‘fresher and exits for the common room to find Finn listening intently to Conder regale tales of Mon Mothma in her youth, leading the fledgling New Republic in the early days after the Rebellion. He has another holo in his hand, flipping through images of old friends. Poe recognizes a few. A young Snap, his mother Norra, Captain Wedge Antilles, a younger Sinjir, a female zabrak and human male he can’t name. _Norra Wexley’s old crew,_ he realizes. 

Suddenly, Conder cuts himself off, both hands falling to his left leg with a gasp. The holo thumps to the ground, forgotten. Finn’s eye’s blow wide and Poe starts halfway towards the other man. 

“Conder? Is everything okay?”

The muscle around the older man's left thigh is incredibly tight, bulging against the skin and rippling unnaturally, visible even through his cloth trousers. _It wasn’t like that before._

“S’fine,” the older man grits out between his teeth. “Just a twinge. It’ll pass.” He hunches over himself, hands massaging furiously at his thigh with white fingers. “Just give me a minute.”

Before Poe can formulate a response to that, the main door hisses open. 

“Con?” An unfamiliar voice echoes through the space. “What’s going on?”

In walks Sinjir Rath Velus, looking a mix between confused, concerned, and thinly veiled anger. He drops the bag he’s holding when he sees the two Resistance members in his apartment and Conder hunched over, obviously in pain. Whatever’s in the bag shatters with a crash and Poe groans. _Perfect timing._

“What in the nine Sith hells is going on here?”


	2. Chapter 2

After Sinjir is comfortably convinced that Conder isn’t going to dissolve into a seizure and die, he leaves Leia’s messengers in the common room, shoves meds in Conder’s hand with a glass of water and all but bullies him into their bed. His husband stares at him balefully through the routine, which he tolerates because he knows that this is the only thing keeping Sinjir from the brink of going absolutely insane. 

There was a period, after the attack, when he thought Sinjir would finally crack and lose it. He was either going to have a mental breakdown or personally drink himself into oblivion and Conder was betting on both. The speed at which Jas was able to track down the perpetrator was probably the only thing that saved Sinjir’s mind and liver from destruction. Having the bastard responsible to beat into a pulp definitely set some things right, at least in Sinjir’s own head. 

Conder’s just grateful to still be alive. 

“I’m fine,” he says, situating himself under the duvet. “Those two young men out there need to talk to you. Leia sent them.”

“Yes, I heard you the first thousand times,” Sinjir snarks like he can’t help himself, digging determinedly through their closet for something. He emerges with another pillow, which he uses to prop up Conder’s bad leg. “All of _my_ body parts are still in perfect working order, including my ears. Here.”

“Then obviously you just aren’t using them,” Conder replies, wincing at the aftershocks of pain as Sinjir positions his leg on the pillow and wraps it in the healing pad. Truly ingenious thing, these healing pads. 

They were the first form of relief they’d found on Hosnian Prime, back when Conder was convinced that this whole spiel was a slow descent into hell and there was no escape from the pain. The brilliant doctor behind them had perished with the planet. He hates the First Order for it.

Movement at the moment is still controlled agony, but bundling the leg in the pad is a small price for the relief it will bring. He’s more than willing to pay it. Sinjir though, never misses a thing, mutters a soft apology and rubs the offending limb back into relief. 

Back when they were starting out, when they were young and still thinking that everything could break apart, Sinjir had worried about his own nature. Whether he was worthy of the man he was falling in love with, and he’d left Conder more than once out of that fear. But Conder never doubted him. They found their way back to each other and never left. Underneath his sacrasistic, sharp nature is a man that loves more deeply than Conder has ever seen. One that would, and has, done anything to keep the people he holds dear safe. 

“I always listen to you,” Sinjir mutters, concentrating on his work. “Otherwise I couldn’t have said all those fairly ridiculous words at our ceremony.”

Conder rolls his eyes, though he knows Sinjir isn’t looking and won’t see. It’s an old, well worn argument between them. Their ceremony, Sinjir refuses to call it a wedding, was as lovely a thing as could be imagined. A simple yet intimate affair, with only close friends in order to, ‘limit the number of individuals witness to the blubbering I’m going to do in public.’ Sinjir’s words. 

It hadn’t mattered. Jas Emari was the only one that really mattered in that regard and she’s teased him about it endlessly ever since. 

Conder cried a little too. He’s not ashamed to admit it. 

“Sin,” he says and Sinjir continues to stare at the bed, hands kneading muscle. “Sinjir.” He reaches out to touch his husband’s hand and Sinjir stops, meets his gaze. His dark eyes are still a touch frantic with worry, his hair wild from running his hands through it. 

Conder softens and smiles, pushing confidence into his words. “I’m alright.” The meds have kicked in and the pad is doing its job. “It’s passed now.”

The tension ebs out of Sinjir and he sinks down a little into the bed with relief. “That was a bad one. The worst in a while.”

Conder shrugs. “They’re less frequent. It’s progress.”

Sinjir sighs and stares at him, halfway to a smirk. “Just shut up and let me worry for a minute,” he says, leans forward and pushes their foreheads together, just breathing for a second. Conder lets him have his moment. When he pulls away, he seems righted. He reaches down to cup Conder’s cheek and rubs the pad of his thumb against the whitening beard. His voice softens. 

“Must you scare me half to death everyday? Are you looking for more drama? Is it not enough anymore to simply come home to my rugged, handsome face?” 

Conder signs, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. “Yes, that’s it. I’m looking to add a bit of flair in our lives. Your exploits just don’t do it for me anymore.”

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of running off with one of those youngsters,” Sinjir says sternly, but he’s smiling. “There are other ways to introduce excitement, you know. I mean, they’re rather good looking, take your pick, but I’ll remind you that I know at least one competent semi-retired bounty hunter who’d be on my side.” 

Conder pulls back from the pillow to sit up so he can look him in the face then, him and his shit-eating grin. He’s never regretted marrying this ridiculous man. 

“I guess I better go deal with them while you sleep it off. Threaten them off from absconding with my trophy husband.”

“I suppose,” Conder leans back against the pillows, getting comfortable. “Be nice, you old scoundrel. Don’t hurt Dameron, Kes might actually get off the farm and find you himself.”

Sinjir pulls a face. “Dameron. I knew I recognized that one. It’s the hair. They should put that face on a recruitment poster.” He sighs again, like he’s being put upon. Dramatic bastard, as always. Conder never wants him to change. He leans forward and Sinjir meets him halfway to press their mouths together. He pulls back and even without looking, he can tell that the smile on his face is besotted. 

“Go on, you rogue. See what the Princess has to say.”

\--

Poe watches Sinjir wave the bedroom door shut silently behind him and mentally steeles himself. He catches Finn's eye and sees the same wave of trepidation reflected back at him. This may be a bit more difficult than anticipated. According to Leia, Rath Velus is prickly on a good day, (Snap is a bit more forgiving but he tends to be biased) and he was definitely not expecting to come home to find his husband doubled over in pain with two strangers in his apartment. 

This could be over before they’ve even made the pitch. 

“You boys want a drink,” Rath Velus asks, strolling into the kitchen. Poe blinks at Finn. Well, that’s not what he was expecting. Finn quirks a brow at him and shrugs. _Why not? Might as well be polite._

“I need one after that kriffing episode,” he muttered, almost to himself, walking into the open kitchenette. He snags an ornate bottle of brown amber ale and pours three crystal tumblers, holding them between his fingers as he joins them in the common room. 

“Thank you sir,” Finn politely accepts the glass. Sinjir snorts, handing the other to Poe and knocking half of his back in a single gulp. “None of that shit. No one calls me sir.” He knocks back the second half easily like he’s drinking water and slaps the glass down on the table. 

He leans forward with the beginnings of a grin on his face and a part of Poe’s brain is suddenly reciting the mission brief back to him. He leans unconsciously into Finn, the feel of the other man at his side strangely soothing. _Rath Velus is an extremely experienced and capable interrogator. His prevous work in the Empire made him very skilled in various forms of coercion, including torture._

“Now. What can I do for you?” 

Poe takes a breath and begins, “Sir-”

He holds up a hand. “I told you, we’re not doing this formal shit. _Sinjir_. Otherwise, we’ve got nothing to talk about.”

“Sinjir,” Finn cuts in smoothly. Poe is so relieved to have him here. He’s so much better at this when Poe’s off his game. “We’re with the Resistance. We were sent here on behalf of General Organa.”

“Haven’t heard from Leia in a while,” Sinjir musses, leaning back against the chair. He plucks the empty glass up and rolls it in his hand. He looks distanced, but it’s a front, Poe can tell. He knows a sabrac player when he sees one. “Must be bad then,” he continues. He fixes them both with a steely gaze. 

“You heard about the Battle of Crait?” Poe presses. He wants to keep the conversation in front of them, not allow Rath Velus to turn the questions back on him. He gets the feeling they’re playing with a snake and it’s going to bite them back. He stares at the man unflinching. 

“I heard,” Sinjir replies, noncommittal. He stares back. 

“Then you know we took heavy losses.”

“I can only assume.” Rath Velus has dark, dark eyes. A strong jaw and a well groomed beard. His dark hair and close cropped beard are peppered grey and the lines on his face betray his age. He was surely roguishly handsome once, though now it’s more in a hard, hammered kind of way. Like a weapon forged in fire. 

“We’re short on numbers. On people. Leaders,” Poe continues, hoping he’s projecting a bit of Leia into his own voice. “We need experienced people to lead the fight. You have a history in war with the Rebellion. You have the tactical and political background. We could use you in command. Leia needs help, the Resistance needs it. Or we’re going to lose the war.”

Silence. 

Sinjir stares at the two of them. Poe stares right back. 

Finn breaks the silence while Sinjir and Poe stare each other down. “You know we’re the right side here. The First Order destroyed Hosnian Prime and that was just the beginning. They’ve killed thousands. We’ve got to stop them.” Finn pauses. “I know you’ve been away from this for a while, but I’ve seen it first hand.” Finn stops and trades a look with Poe. 

“Finn defected himself, broke me off the _Finalizer_ ,” Poe interjects. That gets Sinjir’s attention. He looks at Finn with a renewed interest. 

“You were a ‘tropper?” he asks with surprise. 

“Yes,” Finn asks without hesitation. “Not anymore.”

Sinjir cracks a smile at that. “Touche.” 

Finn smiles back. “I know. Read your file.”

“We should swap war stories sometime. Maybe not today,” He shakes his head. “Too nice of a day to relive all that doom and gloom.”

“Sinjir,” Poe starts. He waits for the ex-Imperial to meet his gaze before continuing. “We need you. The galaxy need you. They’re counting on us, and we need your help. I know you left the fight. But we need you back.”

Sinjir sighs. He runs a hand through his hair and for a moment, the facade breaks. He no longer looks like a deadly officer turned rebel. He looks like a tired man, sitting in his apartment being lured back into a fight that might get him killed while two idealistic youngsters convince him it's worth it. 

“You know why I left in the first place, right?”

Poe doesn’t. A quick glance at Finn, and nope, he’s blank too. 

“Leia didn’t tell you?” Sinjir looks between the both of them. “Well, I guess she does keep some things private. Color me shocked. Thought everything was free reign for the ‘good of the Resistance,’” he says with air quotes and a deeply sarcastic voice. 

He stands up and staunters back to the counter to refresh his glass. He inclines his head at Finn and Poe both, but they shake their heads. He shrugs, _suit yourself,_ and settles back in the chair across from them. He downs the whole thing in a single go, coughs once then sets his arms on his knees with his fingers steepled. He stares them both down with a deadly seriousness. 

“We were in this thing for Leia, you know. We supported her, even after things blew up in the Senate. She was a friend. A true friend. And I stand with my friends.”

Poe nods, not daring to interrupt. He can feel Finn at his shoulder, tense. 

“Back when the talk about the First Order started up, Leia was concerned. I thought it was unlikely, but possible. Maybe someone like Rae Sloane was out there, someone we missed. Maybe they were trying to resurrect the Empire, karffing fools. I don’t know. But Leia was sure. And I believed her.” 

Sinjir stops and clears his throat. “And she was right, of course. But someone didn’t like it, if you get what I mean. They knew I supported Leia. That we were working together. She and Mon were friends, you know. And she was working to bring back the Rebellion. The Resistance, you call it. All the same to me. Just a different time.” He shakes his head. 

“There was a terror plot. Against Leia, we thought, but her security was tight. So they started targeting her allies. Her support. A nerve attack. Pure terrorist ideals. No finease, just fear, pain. We figured it out quickly enough and had the ones involved arrested. They only carried out one successful strike.”

Sinjir stops here to inhale and Poe gets it. Suddenly, the whole bloody mess makes sense. “Conder.” He feels Finn draw in a sharp breath beside him. 

Sinjir nods. “They ambushed him outside our building. I didn’t get home until late that night, senate business. By then, it had already been at work a while. Another hour and there’d have been nothing but a body to find.”

Poe can see the older man’s hand faintly trembling as he brings it up to rub against his eyes. This is a terrible memory, and he’s reliving it, probably saying it outloud for the first time in the low time. He feels an unprecedented twist of sympathy for Sinjir Rath Velus. 

He continues. 

“He had extensive treatment on Hosnian Prime. It was months before we could ever come back here,” he gestures around the room as if to say _home_. “They never thought he’d walk again since the leg was so affected. Doctors did all they could, but there’s no cure. The injection was high, near an artery, or else they would have considered amputation. Too risky and it wasn’t an option.”

He looks up. His voice is cold and hard. “He had fits for weeks. Seizures. I was convinced I was going to watch him suffocate and die in that bed on Hosnian Prime. To this day he’s in pain and there’s very little to regulate it.” 

He stabs a finger at them. “I live with that everyday. Conder lives with that everyday. I didn’t walk away from the fight because I thought it wasn’t worth it. I walked away because Conder was worth it. I’ve never regretted it.”

He slumps back into his chair and Poe can’t find the words to say. There’s dead silence and then Sinjir full body groans, eyes closed. “Force above, I can’t believe I just spilled that all to the two of you. I must be getting old.”

“It’s okay,” Finn hurries to say but Sinjir opens one eye and pins him with it. “Cool your heels, ‘tropper. I know it is.”

“Don’t call him that,” Poe snaps before he can help it. He doesn’t care who Sinjir Rath Velus is or what he did in a past life. No one speaks to Finn that way, not when he’s around to hear it. Finn doesn’t deserve to be treated like anything other than a hero of the Resistance. Poe will make sure of that. 

Sinjir quirks an eyebrow at him. “No offense meant, Dameron. I was the enemy once too, you know. Back when I was damn better looking,” he adds and _ah._ There’s the sarcastic humor Snap always went on about. 

“Norra Wexley is in,” Poe offers. It isn’t technically true, Snap might have been sent to recruit his mother and Wedge to their cause, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll come. 

_Wedge will,_ Poe thinks. Wedge will come for Leia even if he thinks all hope is lost, he knows that surely in his bones if he knows Wedge at all. And Norra won’t let him come alone. 

“Really?” Sinjir responds and there’s something far away in his eyes for a moment, like he’s seeing something in the distance. He seems to catch himself and refocuses, stares at the bay window for an extra moment and looks more like himself as he locks gazes with Poe. 

Finn shifts at his side and Poe wonders if it’s the silence or the way Rath Velus’ is focused on Poe that’s making him uncomfortable. “Force, you really look like your folks.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” a new voice says and all three of them should be ashamed for being so engrossed in themselves to not notice Conder Kyl hovering at the doorway. Sinjir starts to get up, no doubt to order him back to bed or something equally ridiculous and unnecessary, but Conder waves him off and sits in the adjourning chair. He looks okay, Poe thinks, for a man that had a nerve fit not an hour ago. Just as strong as when they first got here. 

Conder must notice him staring because he winks. “Good drugs,” he says by way of explanation. 

Sinjir, however, looks wary. “I thought you were asleep. How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough,” Conder says, and he turns to look back at Finn and Poe in the eye in turn. “You make a compelling argument, gentlemen.”

“Conder-”

“No, Sin,” the other man refutes. His long, sandy blond hair flops a little other his face as he turns to face his husband. “We’re going back to finish what we started. General’s orders.”

Sinjir frowns and reaches for him, his eyes a little too wide and someone else might not notice, but Poe does. He’s seen that look in too many veterans. His father’s face, his own in the mirror. _We’ve given enough._

“We’ve done our share. We don’t have to go back,” Sinjir protests, but it’s weak. He’s already caving, Poe can tell. “Someone else can risk it all this time.” 

Conder reaches forward and claps their hands together, squeezes Sinjir’s fingers in reassurance. “Yes we do. We were here at the beginning, and we’re going to be here at the end. We're going to see this one through.” 

Conder looks back at Poe and Finn, his hand still clasped with his husband, a look of resolution firm on his face. Sinjir is staring at him, knowing he’s right and hating it all the same. This, this is what they do. This is the life they chose all those years ago. It seems so long ago, he walked away from the Empire, walked away from the only life he’d known, to build something better. To be _someone_ better. 

They built this new world with their bare hands and he will be damned, _he will be damned_ , to watch it all fall away without a fight. The younger Sinjir would have met the First Order with fists, kicking his way through the door smelling like a cantina, blasting the helmets off the soldiers with Jom Barrell in his wake. 

The new Sinjir, the older, wiser one, is going to meet this new adversary with something a little more tempered, a little more strategy. He hasn’t spent the better second half of his life in politics for nothing, after all. 

The only thing he’s never been willing to risk is Conder. If Conder is in, so is he. 

He nods once. Conder smiles and turns back to the two younger Resistance members on their couch. “Tell Leia. Tell her we’re in. For the good of the Republic. Besides,” a truly devilish grin stretches across his bearded face. “Surely you’d like to have the last word on Temim? Can’t have him be the last one standing.”

Sinjir groans. ”That was years ago,” he protests but there's a smile stretching across his face that calls him a liar. 

Finn is staring at Poe but he just shrugs. “Must be an inside joke,” he whispers and Finn _ah’s_ back. 

Conder smiles wider, running one hand across Sinjir’s knuckles. He meets Poe’s gaze dead on, steeled determination in his eyes. 

The look of a Rebel. 

“We’re in boys. Tell Leia, we’re in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these idiots

**Author's Note:**

> It should be illegal for Sinjir and Conder to only have two tagged fics on this site. If I gotta write my own fic for these canonically, married, besotted men, I'll do it. 
> 
> Read Aftermath, guys.


End file.
